


Not One of Us

by closetcellist



Series: Titan Arum [1]
Category: Battle for London in the Air
Genre: Gen, some light murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7573549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist/pseuds/closetcellist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Jhandir relaxes in unusual ways, which are better kept secret. Somehow Andrew manages to surprise him once his secret is discovered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deception, Disgrace

Campaigning took a lot out of a man, especially when those efforts had to be balanced against his very necessary work in the infirmary. Though it had been quieter than usual of late, with fewer staff around nearly everything fell on his shoulders. It was enough to wear any man down, and Dr. Jhandir, though he was loathe to admit it, was in the end, just a man.

The real trouble was, he reflected, that his preferred form of stress relief was unavailable to him because of exactly the thing that had gotten him so tightly wound. Rumors were still circulating about the incident with the burglar and plans to keep them mere rumors meant nothing of the sort should happen again for some time.

In an effort to maintain appearances, he thought to pursue a more usual form of relaxation, and put forward an invitation to Andrew to join him for drinks— _his_ drinks, of course, alcohol actually worth drinking. He was not likely to find relaxation in one of Andrew’s usual haunts.

It was unfortunate that others found his friend as useful as Dr. Jhandir did. Andrew declined, truly regretfully, though Dr. Jhandir suspected that had as much to do with the quality of alcohol as it did his company, and he was back to square one.

He managed to last a week before he found himself at an emotional breaking point, after spending yet another day spread too thin and being forced to converse with people who for some reason had decided it was their mission to annoy him. He contemplated asking Andrew over again, but it was likely he was still busy and he hated to seem desperate.

Dr. Jhandir came to a decision, though really he felt there was little other choice. He might not be able to play with his favorite toys, he thought as he dressed for a walk in dark colors and a cut decidedly too nice for where he intended to go, but the world was full of trouble and if some of it happened to find him, a lot could be done in the name of self-defense, especially if no one was watching. Concealing a knife and a syringe on his person, Dr. Jhandir set out, looking for dark corners.

Luck, or some other dark god, was on his side tonight, as he hadn’t been walking for half an hour before a presence made itself known, and near a nicely dark alley as well.  “It looks like we have a lost little bird,” an unpleasant voice drawled, coming from a shadowy figure that detached itself from the alley mouth. “Need some help finding your way home?”  
  
Dr. Jhandir’s hand went to his syringe, slipping it out he hoped without notice. “I’m perfectly all right,” he said, hardly having to act at all, the anxiety of his intended transgression creating a convincing sound of hesitance in his voice.

“Naw, I wouldn’t be a proper gentleman if I let you wander ‘round here on your own,” the man said, nothing proper or gentlemanly about him as he stepped into the dim light. “You might get hurt.”

“I assure you, I’m fine,” Dr. Jhandir said, edging around and closer to the alley mouth. As he’d hoped, the man took the bait and stepped forward, grabbing him by his shirtfront and dragging him into the dark of the alley. Once they were out of the street, Dr. Jhandir stabbed up with the hand holding the syringe, sticking the man right in the arm, successfully injecting him with the paralytic drug. The man’s expression briefly registered surprise and he pulled away, staggering a little as the toxin took hold. A moment later he lay unmoving on the ground, unable to do much other than breathe and stare, his vocal chords as frozen as the rest of his muscles, though Dr. Jhandir knew he could still feel pain.

“I’m fine,” Dr. Jhandir said again, softly, as he unbuttoned his jacket and slipped out a thin knife from an inner pocket. He crouched over the man, and reached out, gently tracing the blade along his cheek, slicing the skin cleanly open. “Just fine.”

 

*****

 

It all seemed to happen very quickly.

Embarrassingly, Andrew’s first thought was that he’d never before seen Dr. Jhandir looking so enthusiastic.

More practically, his second thought was that there was an awful lot of blood. He was no doctor himself, but seeing his fair share of violence, he didn’t think anyone could survive losing that much in one go. He was momentarily relieved when he realized it couldn’t be Dr. Jhandir’s blood that covered him, but that left only one other way to read the scene before him and he couldn’t stop the quiet curse of “God’s teeth” that escaped him.

Dr. Jhandir whirled around, moving faster than Andrew had seen him move before, and suddenly he found himself pressed against the bricks of the side of the alleyway, his windpipe partially crushed under his friend’s weight. A second passed as Andrew took in the doctor’s expression—his eyes too dark and too bright all at once, an intensity that really distracted from the delicate knife in his other hand—before Dr. Jhandir seemed to come back to himself, schooling his features back into something unreadable, the calm belying the situation.

“Is this any way to greet a friend?” Andrew rasped. He was remembering a rumor he’d heard about Dr. Jhandir, which he’d dismissed as ridiculous slander. It seemed more plausible now. He was relieved when Dr. Jhandir took a step back, releasing him and allowing him to breathe freely again, though he hadn’t yet spoken.

Andrew couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering, glancing back further into the alleyway and taking in the corpse—or what he hoped was a corpse, considering its state—that lay on the ground, still leaking blood. “What—“ he cleared his throat, the frogging only half from its momentary abuse, “What’s all this?”

“It was self-defense,” Dr. Jhandir said, his tone carefully neutral.

Andrew considered that. He had seen Dr. Jhandir’s attempt at self-defense before, and this was a far cry from that rather spectacular failure. The man himself didn’t seem particularly rattled, though he couldn’t imagine he’d intended to get caught at whatever this was. “Really?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“In a manner of speaking,” Dr. Jhandir allowed. “He did try to rob me.”

“Well, when you come walking around here dressed like that…” Andrew began, but he felt the situation slipping away from him again as Dr. Jhandir pulled out a dark red handkerchief and began to carefully clean his blade and his hands. “Why were you out here?” he asked.

“I needed to get out,” Dr. Jhandir said, slipping the knife into a pocket inside his jacket and buttoning himself up, all but the last one. “To let off some steam. I’m sure you understand, with your penchant for bars that seem designed to provoke a brawl.”

There was, Andrew was certain, a real difference between finding enjoyment in a good old fashioned bar fight and the savage delight that he had seen playing across Dr. Jhandir’s features, though he would be hard pressed to quantify exactly what that difference was other than a gut feeling of wrongness. He grunted noncommittally and glanced at the body again.

“Is something wrong?” Dr. Jhandir asked, his tone still too light for the setting. The understanding that the doctor was testing him flooded through him and he wasn’t entirely sure what would happen if he failed.

“Nothing,” Andrew said, gruffly, crossing his arms. “But it’s too damn cold and damp to stay out here.” He turned, intentionally showing Dr. Jhandir his unprotected back and somehow not freezing up at the sound of a step behind him.

“Godspeed, Andrew,” Dr. Jhandir said softly as Andrew strode out of the alley and back toward his lodgings. He intended to get roaring drunk tonight and maybe if he was very lucky, he’d forget everything he’d seen.


	2. Evil as Plain as the Scar on his Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew tries to discuss the previous night with Dr. Jhandir, to little success.

Andrew woke knowing he’d drunk too much and not enough at the same time. He head was pounding and his mouth was dry, and while he didn’t remember exactly what he’d done after the third drink, he still remembered the night before that point all too clearly. The Doc was a murderer. And probably worse, if you considered some of the things he was rumored to have done worse that murder, which Andrew might, if they were true.

He closed his eyes again tightly, hoping he could go back to sleep or back to yesterday morning, but neither happened and after a few moments, his body forced him to get up and relieve the pressure in his bladder. After a piss, a quick washing up, and some food, he felt slightly more alive, and well enough to face Dr. Jhandir and demand at least some kind of explanation.

Of course, when he got to the safe house, the doctor was busy. That seemed to be about his luck at the moment. He chatted idly with Beth for perhaps half an hour while he waited, and managed to coax some tea out of her, which improved his remaining headache somewhat. When Dr. Jhandir finally came up from the basement, he froze for a moment when he saw Andrew.

“Andrew,” Dr. Jhandir said, straightening his waistcoat. “My apologies. I hope you weren’t waiting long?”

“Not sure that’s what you should apologize for,” Andrew said. He had not planned how he’d broach the topic of the night before, but surely it had to be on the doctor’s mind as well.

“Right,” Dr. Jhandir said quietly. “Would you like to adjourn to my parlor? We can speak a little more freely there.”

Andrew nodded brusquely, following the doctor to his personal quarters. Dr. Jhandir closed the door behind them both and gestured toward a set of chairs, settling in and waiting for Andrew to speak. Even so, it took him a long moment to find the words.

“Let’s start,” Andrew said slowly, “with ‘why?’”

“I wasn’t lying when I said that he was trying to rob me,” Dr. Jhandir said, his tone calm though his gaze was watchful and his posture not at all relaxed.

“Why were you there to get robbed in the first place?” Andrew asked, frustration evident in his tone.

Dr. Jhandir hesitated a few seconds before admitting, “Stress relief.”

Andrew’s expression grew stormy, his brows furrowed. “Stress relief?” he asked, flatly. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe it, just that he had expected—hoped—there would be more to it than that.

“Yes,” Dr. Jhandir said, meeting his gaze. “That is the long and short of it.”

Andrew hadn’t expected to feel so furious. He had expected some denial, perhaps, or some long explanation about how it had been an accident or a mistake. He had been prepared to call his friend a liar and demand a real explanation after his guilty conscience forced him to cover up the truth. He had not been prepared for such a frank and, to his mind, flippant admission. “Are you completely insane or is it just this?” he asked, flushing.

Dr. Jhandir looked unimpressed. “I don’t think that’s really fair.”

“Don’t you?” Andrew asked, standing to pace. He managed to keep his voice down, but it was a struggle. “You kill people for ‘stress relief’ and that doesn’t sound even a bit crazy to you?”

“Drinking in a pub for enjoyment seems a touch insane to me, but I still allow that others find it relaxing,” Dr. Jhandir said.

Andrew glared. “That’s not remotely similar. And don’t bring up fighting again either—people are alive at the end of a fight. Murder is wrong, Anil. Don’t you feel any remorse?”

“For this?” Dr. Jhandir asked. “Not particularly. I do feel remorse for other things. I have emotions, Andrew. I’m not some kind of evil homunculus.”

“Sure,” Andrew said, returning to pacing. “You have emotions. Just no morals.”

“I don’t put much stock in morals,” Dr. Jhandir said. “They tend to get in the way of what has to be done.”

“ _This_ ,” Andrew gestured widely for emphasis to indicate the previous night. “Didn’t have to be done.”

“Something did,” Dr. Jhandir said, entirely too reasonably. “I did try other things first. Look at where you are. Look at what you’re involved in. Did you really think groups like ours could manage anything without some casualties? I honestly didn’t think you were that naïve.”

Andrew’s normally pale face was now bright red and he finally gave up control of his volume. “Naïve?! This isn’t about me, _doctor_ , this is about you. This is your problem—and it _is_ a problem. You think you sound so smart—" He paused for a moment to try to regain control of himself, but it didn't happen. Somewhat pettily, he continued, "Maybe Suttler should win. It would serve you right.”

Dr. Jhandir’s expression instantly sharpened. “Mr. O’Rourke. Get out of my parlor.”

“Gladly,” Andrew snarled, stalking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Dr. Jhandir exited the room a few moments later, after taking the time to compose himself, and found Beth still sitting in the safe house parlor on the other side. “Did you and Andrew have a fight?” she asked tentatively, as though there hadn’t been very obvious yelling coming from behind the door.

Dr. Jhandir simply glared at her until she looked away.


	3. He Asked for Trouble the Moment He Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Jhandir tries to apologize, but nothing is ever simple.

Dr. Jhandir actively avoided Andrew for several weeks, throwing himself into work, finding some way to be stiffly polite to everyone and continue his campaign while convincing his staff that this was still a fully functional infirmary that required their presence. He remained alert, waiting for whispered word that Andrew had informed on him, but when nothing came, day after day, he began to feel a touch remorseful—terrible dark irony—about the way he’d spoken to the man.

He tried to reach out, but found Andrew mysteriously absent each time, for nearly a full month after the incident. He gave in to his guilt completely and put out gentle inquiries as to where his friend might be found, and after some effort finally found himself, uncomfortable and embarrassed, at the Horse and Hounds, scanning the room for Andrew, or at least his recognizable red hair.

As it happened, Andrew spotted him first; he stood out like a sore thumb in this place for more than one reason, after all, while Andrew blended right in. “Doctor!” came a call from a few tables away, as Andrew raised a full glass to salute him. Dr. Jhandir couldn’t decide if he was relieved that the man was already a bit in his cups. “Come to join the rest of us little people?” He decided he was not relieved.

Dr. Jhandir somehow made his way over, though it was an unpleasant ordeal to push through the crowd. When he did reach Andrew’s table, he found it had been vacated of all occupants except his friend. “I came to apologize,” he said, quietly.

“You’ll have to speak up,” Andrew said, though Dr. Jhandir was nearly positive he’d heard him. “It’s a bit noisy in here.”

“I’ve come to apologize.” Dr. Jhandir repeated more loudly, though it didn’t stand out much from the general hubbub.

“For what?” Andrew challenged, his attention on Dr. Jhandir suddenly quite a bit more focused.

For a moment, Dr. Jhandir thought he truly had forgotten, but Andrew’s expression made it clear this was a test. “For how I spoke to you.”

“And?”

“For…” Dr. Jhandir struggled for a moment. “For putting you in such an awkward position. Thank you for keeping things in confidence.”

Andrew grunted in acknowledgement, clearly not pleased about it, but intending to continue nevertheless. “Anything else?”

“For being rude,” Dr. Jhandir finished.

“That you were,” Andrew agreed. He sighed a moment later. “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get.”

“I did come into this…place,” Dr. Jhandir added, a whole slew of interesting descriptors present in his pause.

Andrew laughed, sudden and loud. “You did. And you should have seen your own face when you walked in the door. That’s going to keep my spirits up for a long time.”

Dr. Jhandir sat through Andrew’s mirth for what he felt was an acceptable amount of time before he attempted to rise. “That’s all I came to say,” he started. “I don’t want to interrupt your evening—”

“No you don’t,” Andrew said, grabbing his shirtsleeve and tugging him back down, mirth still evident on his face. “You’re staying. We’re going to get drunk and you’re going to pay. And then it’s possible I’ll forgive you.”

Dr. Jhandir opened his mouth to protest, but closed it a second later, and nodded. “That is more than fair,” he said, acquiescing gracefully. “I had thought, after our conversation, that you might have—”

Andrew cut him off with a wave of his hand. “No talking now,” he said. “Drink first. “

Dr. Jhandir sighed. “All right. What are you drinking?”  
  
“Don’t you worry about that,” Andrew said, looking around and waving someone over. “Just worry about paying after.”

Andrew ordered a lot more alcohol than Dr. Jhandir thought was necessary, but they soon settled in to drinking, Andrew with considerably more gusto than the doctor. But as he drank, he slipped back more and more into the comfortable kind of conversation they’d achieved before the incident and their month of silence, and Dr. Jhandir was grateful for that, even if he had to suffer to achieve it.

The night wore on, but the pub never really became less crowded. Andrew was in the middle of a story he was certain was _hilarious_ , and Dr. Jhandir was idly looking over the crowd, nursing his third terrible beer, when he saw him and froze. Clive Swift. One of Lord Beck’s clerks, or he had been, at least. What he was doing here was unimaginable to the doctor, though that mattered less at the moment than what Swift would do if he saw him.

“Are you feelin’ all right?” Andrew asked Dr. Jhandir, a touch muzzily, interrupting his own story. “You’ve gone awful pale.”

“I’m fi—I need to leave,” Dr. Jhandir decided, changing his mind mid-thought, though it didn’t matter much, because in that moment, Swift glanced in his direction and they locked eyes. It took Swift less than a second to recognize him, his eyes widening in surprise, before he began to struggle toward the door.

Dr. Jhandir burst out of his chair, stumbling as the alcohol he’d drunk hit him suddenly, though he powered through it and the crowd, intent on not losing Swift. Behind him, Andrew called, “Doctor! What—where—?”  He didn’t stop to see if Andrew followed him, pushing through the crowd and out the door, startled for a moment at the cool of the air, looking wildly around for Swift before he caught sight of him disappearing around a corner.

He gave chase, wishing he’d had even less to drink, following Swift as he wove in between several tenements, getting the doctor thoroughly lost though never quite losing him. Dr. Jhandir barreled around another corner, and slammed into Swift, gasping from the collision and the sudden pain in his side.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Swift said, out-of-breath, afraid, and angry all at once.

Dr. Jhandir looked down at the knife buried in his side and back up at Swift in disbelief.  “You’re supposed to be behind a desk,” he replied, stupidly, his brain refusing to come up with something more helpful.

Some force was still watching over the doctor, as Andrew appeared around the same corner, having managed to follow Dr. Jhandir through the maze of buildings. He took in the scene in one wide-eyed glance and punched Swift hard in the jaw before he could do more than gape at this unexpected newcomer.

The punch knocked Swift back and half to his knees, though he quickly scrambled up and edged away, clearly planning to run again. Dr. Jhandir staggered back and pulled the knife from his side, letting out a thin breath of pain. “He can’t leave,” the doctor ground out, taking a step toward Swift and wincing as he moved.

Andrew shook his head, trying to clear it of the drinks he’d had, though that didn’t help much at all. He reacted on instinct more than anything else when Swift tried to bolt, charging forward and tackling the man, giving him a few solid punches for the trouble before standing and hauling him to his feet.

“Kill him,” Dr. Jhandir whispered hoarsely, suddenly at his side. The doctor pressed a knife to his hand, and Andrew glanced sideways, frozen for a moment by the desire, the obvious bloodlust, in the other man’s face, instead of the grimace of pain he’d expected to see.

Andrew felt as though he stepped outside himself. He could feel the knife in his hand, lighter than he’d expected—lighter than a switchblade or the honest weight of a nice pair of brass knuckles. He thought about dropping it, told his hand to drop it, but instead he watched himself raise it, backing Swift against a wall and holding it to his throat. He pressed it hard enough just to break the skin, watching the blood begin to drip almost curiously.

“Kill him,” Dr. Jhandir urged again, clutching his side. His gaze on Andrew was intense, every tiny twitch of muscle noted. “He will destroy me if we let him go. He can’t be allowed to leave.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Swift pleaded, breathless and desperate. “Don’t you know who he is?”

Andrew told himself to step back; it would be easy enough to knock the man out. They’d be able to think of something else, some other way out of this. Some other way to keep the Doc a secret for a while longer, though he refused to think about why that should be so important to him. He held Swift to the wall, pulling the knife away. Swift let out a slow breath, glancing at Dr. Jhandir over Andrew’s shoulder.

“Kill him, Andrew,” Dr. Jhandir said, thin and quiet, his voice a caress, a serpent’s hiss.

Dreamily, Andrew lifted the knife again, sliding it home between Swift’s ribs. He watched Swift’s face register surprise, shock, listened to him cough though a fog, though the blood that dripped out of his mouth seemed much redder than it should be. He held him there, on the knife, until he stopped moving, before he stepped back, letting Swift’s body fall to the ground, now limp and lifeless. He dropped the knife as well, looking at his hand as though he didn’t recognize it, returning to the moment as suddenly as he’d left it. He spun around, giving Dr. Jhandir a sharp glance, half accusation, half question.

Dr. Jhandir was looking at him like a proud parent, or perhaps an owner whose dog had suddenly performed a complicated trick perfectly. “Andrew—”

“Don’t,” Andrew cut him off, sharply. “Don’t say anything.”

“He wasn’t a nice man, Andrew,” Dr. Jhandir said.

Andrew huffed.  “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have—”

“He was one of Lord Beck’s clerks,” Dr. Jhandir pressed, his delight dampening his pain enough to keep him upright for the moment. “He’s done as much wrong as anyone else there. And you saved my life.”

Andrew scowled, stepping back. “Damned my own, more like.”

“Really, Andrew,” Dr. Jhandir said dismissively. “You’re better than that.”

“Don’t,” Andrew said again, tense. He raised his arm, pointing at Dr. Jhandir, his hand bloody and shaking. “Don’t you dare. I told you before, I don’t want to hear it, especially from you.” He turned away, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. “We have to do something about the body. And you need a doctor.”

“I am a doctor,” Dr. Jhandir said, smiling wryly.

Andrew turned around just to glare at him again. “You can operate on yourself if you want,” he said. “But if you die, I’m going to be amazingly pissed.”

“I didn’t know you cared that much,” Dr. Jhandir drawled.

“I shouldn’t,” Andrew said, petulance lacing his tone and spoiling his glare.

“We’ll dump the body off the platform,” Dr. Jhandir said. “But first, give me your belt.”

“My belt?” Andrew asked, thrown. “What for?”

“To stop my bleeding until I can get back to safety,” Dr. Jhandir said, again terribly reasonable in the awful situation.

Andrew stared at him for a moment longer before he unbuckled his belt, handing it over. He watched, without offering to help, as Dr. Jhandir jerry-rigged a pseudo-tourniquet around his midsection, somehow managing to hide it under his jacket.

“How am I supposed to get—” Andrew stopped, feeling a wave of guilt and nausea as he realized he didn’t even know the name of the man he had killed. “The body to the platform edge and get you back to the house at the same time?”

“I can help you,” Dr. Jhandir said, though he wasn’t entirely positive that was a good idea. He couldn’t tell exactly bad the wound was, though he knew it hadn’t hit anything vital. “Sling his arms over our shoulders and we’re just three terribly drunk people. It’s very nearly true.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at Dr. Jhandir, frowning when he tried to bend and winced, thinking better of it. “Just…stand there for a minute,” Andrew said, closing his eyes and mentally asking for forgiveness before he bent to hoist up Swift’s body himself, awkwardly draping its arm over his shoulders and shuffling closer to Dr. Jhandir. “Are you sure you can do this?”

“I don’t have much choice,” Dr. Jhandir said, steeling himself for the walk. “Though you’ll have to lead. I confess, I don’t know this area well enough to even find the Edge.”

Andrew nodded, his expression set and rather grim. He didn’t know if it was better or worse that Swift’s corpse still felt warm to the touch. “This way,” he said, gesturing with his chin. They began to walk, slowly and with great difficulty, trying to keep Swift’s body balanced between them as evenly as possible, but the faster they tried to walk, the more they weaved, and the more pained Dr. Jhandir’s expression became. It took them an hour to reach the Edge, but they saw only a few people, all of whom only glanced at them before going about their own business.

The railing here was chest high, reasonably well-maintained, though a few of the bars were rusting. They stepped right up to the railing, unslinging Swift’s arms from their shoulders to drape them over the top, letting the rail take his weight. Andrew looked around and was relieved to see no one, though he didn’t squint too hard at the windows. Anyone who lived right on the Edge wouldn’t be looking too carefully at anyone else.

Dr. Jhandir leaned against the railing and let out a quiet groan, trying to push down the pain. “Is anyone watching?”

“No, we’re all alone with our sins,” Andrew said.

Dr. Jhandir ignored that, or didn’t hear anything after the ‘no.’ “Tip him over.”

Andrew sighed, long and deep, pacing a few steps away, looking at the sky for a long moment before he turned around.

“Andrew,” Dr. Jhandir said, grimacing. “There’s nothing to save anymore. Tip him over.” He slowly sank down to sit on the ground, resting his head back against the bars. “Please.”

Andrew crossed back and swiftly crouched, grabbing Swift’s ankles and lifting, tipping the body over the railing and letting gravity take away their crime. He watched it fall until he couldn’t see it any longer, before scrubbing his hands on his trousers. “Anything else horrible you want me to do, Doc?”  
  
But Dr. Jhandir was already unconscious.


	4. Born in Grief, Raised in Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew deals with the aftermath.

Andrew stared at the doctor, crouching and tapping his face lightly, and when that provoked no response, shaking him a bit more roughly than was likely called for. Dr. Jhandir’s eyes remained closed and he looked terribly pale, though his breathing was steady enough to Andrew’s knowledge.

He stood and gave in for a moment, swearing up a blue streak, cursing himself and the doctor and the city and himself again before finally running out of steam with a sigh. He crouched again facing away from Dr. Jhandir, reaching behind to pull the other man’s arms over his shoulders, hoisting him onto his back and standing with a grunt. “I should tip you over the edge too,” he grumbled to the unconscious man. “Solve both of our problems.”

Andrew knew he should try to get the doctor to his own house. There were people who could actually help him there, in addition to being a familiar place to wake up, which he thought was probably preferable. But showing up there like this would also provoke questions that he couldn’t answer, such as ‘who stabbed Dr. Jhandir?’ ‘why?’ and most difficult, ‘what happened to the man that stabbed him?’

Tonight was a night of terrible decisions, Andrew decided, so he headed toward his own home instead. He made faster time than the two of them had made with the body, but Dr. Jhandir was beginning to feel quite heavy by the time he actually reached his door, and he still hadn’t woken. Andrew had a moment of difficulty actually unlocking it and getting through the door, but somehow he managed and finally set Dr. Jhandir on his bed as gently as he could.

He was going to have to do something about the knife wound, he knew. He wasn’t sure if the belt had slipped loose or if there was something worse wrong, but he had to simply hope and guess now that he’d made his choice. With another sigh, he unbuttoned Dr. Jhandir’s jacket, undid the belt cinched around his stomach, and went to work on the roughspun vest and shirt, both of which were soaked with blood. “At least he won’t miss these too much,” Andrew muttered to himself.

When the wound was finally revealed, it was smaller than Andrew had expected, though he’d held the knife that made it, and felt how light it was. It was bleeding only sluggishly now, and he hoped that meant it was already starting to heal inside and not that the doctor was running out of blood to lose.

“What did he…right, clean it,” Andrew muttered, talking himself through this, to stay calm and also to stay awake. He cast around for something and settled on the dregs of a bottle of cheap whiskey, taking a swig himself—he deserved it—before pouring the rest on the wound.

Finding something to use as a bandage was less easy, as most of the cloth in the room was either none-too-clean or something he’d rather not lose. He settled on an older shirt that had luckily been washed recently, and decided he’d make Dr. Jhandir replace it once he woke up. He folded it into something like an enormous gauze pad and pulled the belt around it again, after wrestling it into the right place.

“If you die,” he told Dr. Jhandir’s unconscious form as he tightened the belt again over the fresh ‘bandage,’ “I’ll find a way to bring you back, and then kill you again myself. That is a promise.” He looked the doctor over one more time, and failed to think of anything else that might help. This night had been entirely too long, he thought as he sat heavily in the room’s only chair. If he knew anything about medicine, he might have stayed up to make sure Dr. Jhandir made it through the night, but as he had already exhausted his supply of knowledge, he closed his eyes instead, managing to fall asleep sitting up, his head resting against the wall.

 

***

 

When Dr. Jhandir did wake, it well into the morning of the next day. He registered the pain in his side when he tried to sit up, unthinking. With a quiet groan, he lay back, squinting at the room around him. He was nowhere he recognized, the small room around him dingy and oppressive, but when he saw Andrew sleeping in the chair, he made the appropriate mental leap. Laying back and looking around, he took in what had to be Andrew’s quarters. It was, in the doctor’s opinion, a rather depressing state of affairs, made more so by the fact that it was a mile away from his own rooms, which housed some lovely little painkillers that he would have appreciated right about now.

“Andr—” Dr. Jhandir started to say, before coughing, his throat terribly dry. He looked at his hands, taking in their unpleasant pallor, and diagnosed himself. Anemia and dehydration from blood loss and drinking. The doctor looked over at Andrew again, still sleeping against the wall, though that couldn’t be comfortable. “Andrew?” he managed, a rough half-whisper.

Andrew started awake and winced as his neck and back twinged from the awkward position he’d been in. Stretching and rubbing his neck, he looked over at Dr. Jhandir. “You’re still alive then?”

“It appears so,” Dr. Jhandir rasped. “Could I trouble you for some water?”

Andrew nodded, standing and rustling around out of Dr. Jhandir’s line of sight for a moment, returning with a small cup of water. The doctor tried to sit up again, and managed this time with Andrew’s help. After drinking, he felt slightly more alive.

“Is this your home?” Dr. Jhandir asked, though it had to be.

“It’s where I sleep,” Andrew said. “’Home’ is a strong word.”

Dr. Jhandir nodded. “Why did you bring me here rather than my house?”

Andrew looked away, his mouth a thin line. “I didn’t feel like answering questions. Thought you might not want them either.”

“Ah, yes. That was rather forward thinking of you. I suppose it would have caused a bit of a ruckus,” Dr. Jhandir said. It still might do, if he couldn’t get back to work right away, but he was sure he could think of something to buy himself a few days’ recovery. “Thank you. For letting me use your bed.”

Andrew nodded, still looking drawn. “Can you get home all right or do you need help?”

“That is a very good question,” Dr. Jhadir said. He had to admit, he was feeling rather weak—the anemia—though he couldn’t very well stay in Andrew’s bed all day. “Let’s find out, shall we?” He levered himself off the bed with a short, pained gasp and swayed a little as he straightened up. “I believe,” Dr. Jhandir said, blinking the dizziness away, “I may need some assistance.”

Andrew looked at him for a long moment before his tense expression broke and he sighed. “Right, let’s get you cleaned up first,” he said, his tone gentling to something the doctor had only heard a few times before. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your sparkling reputation.”

He was right, of course, Dr. Jhandir thought ruefully, glancing down at his bloodstained clothes. That would never do, not during daylight hours. “I don’t suppose—”

Andrew was already gathering up clean clothes. “They’re going to be too big,” he warned. “And…here,” he tucked the clean shirt under his arm and managed to get the other around Dr. Jhandir before the doctor knew what was happening.

He helped him to the washroom, left him for a moment to take care of morning’s call of nature, and returned to help Dr. Jhandir check his wound and change. It had scabbed overnight, though the doctor thought it would be safer with stitches. With some assistance, Dr. Jhandir bandaged it again, having Andrew cut a clean portion of the already ruined shirt.

Andrew was gentler than Dr. Jhandir had expected, considering he had been so cross with him earlier, and the doctor was hesitant to break the silence between them, but eventually someone had to speak. “I am feeling a bit better,” he hazarded. “I might manage the walk to my house on my own.”

“No, I’m helping you there,” Andrew said, no question in his tone.

“Why?” Dr. Jhandir asked. “Surely you don’t think I’d wander off and get into trouble in this state.”

Andrew smiled wryly. “Call it Christian charity.”

Dr. Jhandir breathed a short laugh. “If I must.”

Andrew nodded. “No way around it. Now, out we go.” He offered his arm to the doctor, who took it as graciously as he could manage and the two headed out toward the safe house, Andrew keeping Dr. Jhandir steady on his feet.

 


	5. Helpless to Deny His Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Jhandir recovers and Andrew runs into some difficulty on the docks.

Their arrival back at the safe house was met with a flurry of activity, but a substantially smaller one than would have occurred if Dr. Jhandir had arrived as he’d looked the night before. Andrew slipped away once he had gotten the doctor safely in the door, and Dr. Jhandir made up a reasonably convincing story about going out drinking (true) and running into ruffians (not entirely false), leaving the ending rather hazy (he’d been stabbed, fuzzy memory was allowed) but not interesting enough for anyone to comment on, as most of the others were more concerned with the doctor’s state than anything else. With access to real medical supplies, Dr. Jhandir finished patching himself up properly, assuring everyone he would be able to work just fine, if possibly a bit slower, over the next few weeks.

Even though he had released her with a sparklingly clean bill of health days and days and days ago, Daphne Massey seemed to show up entirely too often for things she really didn’t need over those few weeks. Dr. Jhandir knew without a doubt she was watching him, and while he knew that he deserved it he resented it nonetheless. He was, at the moment, on his best behavior, and his bedside manner was as good as could be expected while he was also recovering.

Andrew stopped by more often than necessary as well, though that was a much more pleasant surprise. Dr. Jhandir had been distantly worried that he might have to weather another spate of silence from his friend, but he seemed to be taking this incident much more easily than the one before.

Andrew on his part was spending a lot more time praying than usual, and lot more time _not_ thinking, which meant he had to do something to occupy himself. Luckily for him, his work at the docks, both for the Rebellion and his more legitimate work, kept him occupied during those times when he wasn’t talking to the Doc or drinking, and sleeping heavily, if not entirely soundly, at night.

It suited him just fine that there was steadily more work over the next few weeks, especially once the doctor had recovered, as that removed his excuse for visiting his house so often. It wasn’t as though their friendship was any kind of secret, but the house itself was steadily getting busier as things began to gear up for elections and other projects he wasn’t on the need-to-know list for.

And anyway, more rebellion work meant more chances to see Captain French.

Still, work was work, and this work was dirty and dangerous, as the Rebellion weren’t the only smugglers in the city. He’d been hearing rumors around the neighborhood about a new gang establishing itself on the platform, though aside from wondering whether that had anything to do with the increased activity in the house, he hadn’t given it much thought.

He regretted that when the first thug hit him from behind.

He hadn’t expected it, finishing up the tail end of ferrying their day’s cargo, another shipment of medical supplies, to its final destination at the doctor’s house. It was getting late, close to the usual quitting time, but still quite light out. Which had made it even more of a surprise when he was surrounded by five men he’d never seen around before and hit hard on the back of the head.

He saw stars as he staggered forward, spinning to punch the man who’d hit him, and watching him dance out of reach as Andrew shook his head to clear it. One of the others kicked Andrew in the back of the knees, pitching him forward. He caught himself on his elbows and sent a nasty shock up his arms, just in time to be kicked in the stomach.

Blindsided and surrounded, Andrew went down under a flurry of blows before some of his mates from the docks arrived, returning when they realized Andrew was no longer behind them. There were a lot of shouts and sound of scuffling, someone yelling about “our patch now” and someone else pulling Andrew off the ground. He faded in and out of consciousness as he was carried away, coming back to awareness just in time to see the safe house, and Dr. Jhandir looking tense.

“Don’t worry,” Andrew heard Dr. Jhandir say, quiet and distant before things went black again. “I’ll take care of everything.”

 

***

 

“No more trouble?” Dr. Jhandir asked lightly.

Dr. Jhandir had convinced him to come out to celebrate returning to full health at a slightly nicer bar than the pub Andrew preferred, and since it was the Doc’s treat, Andrew had agreed happily enough. The doctor had finally given Andrew a clean bill of health earlier that week and let him return to work. It had taken him a while to recover—far too long, in Andrew’s opinion, as he did not do convalescence well.

Dr. Jhandir was a more than competent doctor, as Andrew already knew, but he had come to understand why some people complained about his manner. Dr. Jhandir was no better at extended reassurances than Andrew was at being a temporary invalid. And he prodded far more than Andrew thought was necessary.

The doctor had asked Andrew at least a thousand questions about what happened once he’d woken up, and he’d told him to the best of his abilities, which wasn’t much considering how quickly it had all happened. Eventually Dr. Jhandir had left off the questioning when it was clear Andrew didn’t know anything else, so he’d rested and the doctor hadn’t brought it up again.

Before he’d been officially released back into the wild, Andrew had admitted to being slightly worried, not about himself, obviously, he could take care of himself. But his mates and the security of their shipments and still having a job to come back to and everything else, that he had worried about. So he had been very pleased to find his concern had been unnecessary.

“No one’s seen the bastards in a week, so we’re none too worried,” Andrew said, smiling. “Something must have scared them off.”

Dr. Jhandir smiled slowly, his expression sharp. “Perfect,” he said, sounding terribly satisfied.

Andrew looked him over with a frown. “What? What did you do?”

“I took care of them,” Dr. Jhandir said, in the same terrible tone.

There was a moment of incomprehension, as Andrew processed what Dr. Jhandir had said and took in his undeniably pleased and slightly proud expression. He was reminded, suddenly and vividly, of the barn cat that had lived with them when he was young, which would sometimes bring dead mice or halves of birds to leave in the doorway of their house, presenting them as trophies or rewards. It was hard to tell with cats, and it was hard to tell in that moment with Dr. Jhandir in a similar but less pleasant way.

“You…killed them?” Andrew asked, though he knew that answer already.

Dr. Jhandir sighed, though his expression didn’t waver much. “Yes, they’re taken care of. They won’t bother you ever again.”

“You killed them…for me?” Andrew asked, trying to find a way into this situation that made it either unambiguously pleasant or repulsive. It was hard going.

“They deserved it,” Dr. Jhandir said, with iron certainty. “And don’t you see?” he continued, too enthusiastic in the face of Andrew’s now chastising glare. “We can protect each other.”

“I don’t want you to kill people for me, Anil,” he said firmly.  “That really shouldn’t need me having to say it.”

“Come now, Andrew,” Dr. Jhandir said. “Tell me honestly you weren’t pleased before you knew it was me. You wanted _something_ to happen to them. And the world is better for their absence. Cleaner too, I’d say.”

“I didn’t want you to kill them for me,” Andrew said with certainty.

“Did you want to do it yourself?” Dr. Jhandir asked, raising his eyebrow in a half-challenge. “Besides, it wasn’t _entirely_ for you. I rarely do things I don’t enjoy.”

Andrew scrubbed his hands over his face. “Why can’t you enjoy something normal?” he grumbled. “Something harmless.”

Dr. Jhandir gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look. “I have other hobbies. I enjoy plants. I take them quite seriously, in fact. I’m sure you’ve seen my collection.”

For a moment, Andrew thought he was referring to the Rebellion, but then he realized he had seen Dr. Jhandir’s collection of plants—rather impressive and exotic looking ones, actually—though he hadn’t given them any real thought until now. “Oh.” It was a surprisingly fitting image, the doctor caring for a plant. It wouldn’t complain about his manner, after all.

“Yes,” Dr. Jhandir replied, taking a sip of his wine.

“They’re very…nice,” Andrew said, floundering.

“I know,” Dr. Jhandir said.

An awkward pause welled up, before Dr. Jhandir swiftly changed the subject, offering Andrew a conversational life raft he gratefully grabbed. “I imagine with all the extra work you’ve been seeing more of Captain French.”

“Yeah,” Andrew agreed, flushing a little, though this was a far more pleasant topic. He filled the doctor in on how that was progressing and soon their conversation had evened out to something much more usual. They were both in good spirits when they finally took their leave, parting to head to their own homes.

Andrew had had just enough to drink to forget he wasn’t supposed to be thinking, and as he walked, he couldn’t stop himself from distractedly running over the evening’s conversation in his head, fixating on one part of it, or the other, on Dr. Jhandir’s obvious and frankly too sincere enthusiasm, on his dead-bird-gift. How he’d thought Andrew would be pleased. By the time he reached his door, he realized he was smiling, slightly. Andrew did not think that boded well at all.


	6. Let Him Run, Let Him Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Jhandir tries to figure out what makes Andrew tick.

Though things remained busy at the base and elections trundled ever closer, both Dr. Jhandir and Andrew decided to try to return to their former weekly gatherings, though the location shifted around the platform and they didn’t always managed to meet exactly once a week. Their conversations orbited mostly neutral topics, though occasionally one or the other would try to pose something philosophical that stalled the pleasant talk to a grinding, clanking halt until they abruptly switched to something else. Safest were their conversations about other people, though not if those other people were to overhear them.

Dr. Jhandir’s spirits remained high after Andrew’s recovery and their renewed weekly meetings; high enough that even others at the house noticed. Louisa joked about sending Andrew a present to thank him, and even Daphne seemed to be less underfoot of late.

There was just one thing the doctor couldn’t let go, though it intrigued him more than irritated him, and took up a good portion of his idle thoughts—why had Andrew so readily killed Swift? It had taken some urging, to be sure, and he had been ostensibly unhappy about it afterwards, but he’d done it, quite neatly. Had it only been because his life had been in danger? If so, it was quite touching, though admittedly less interesting. Yet Andrew had disapproved of him returning the favor. Was it only because he had done it after the fact?

But of course every time he tried to approach asking, however circuitously and indirectly, things fell apart. Still, that just meant he had to find out some other way. Something more hands on.

That should prove delightful.

Dr. Jhandir wasn’t interested in either of them being injured again, and he was fairly certain that Andrew wouldn’t approve of actively seeking trouble, but there was a world—or at least, a platform—of options between legitimate self-defense and premeditation, especially since their weekly drinking nights were now taking them to all areas around the platform. He simply had to keep his eyes open.

It took a little longer than Dr. Jhandir hoped for an opportunity to present itself, but one evening as the two of them were making their way to a new drinking spot, this one likely more to Andrew’s taste than the doctor’s, they heard a woman’s scream that sounded like it was coming from an alleyway up ahead. Dr. Jhandir smiled lightly to himself even as Andrew frowned, jogging ahead. He stopped at the edge of the alley, carefully peering around the mouth as the doctor made his more leisurely way to his side.

From there, they could hear scuffling and a whimper, and Andrew could make out the forms of a man and a woman—the man dressed too nice, even carrying a cane, which he had clutched in one hand, not quite raised to strike though it didn’t seem unlikely he might in a few more seconds. The woman was one Andrew recognized from his own neighborhood, a ladybird named Maggie who was sweet enough but was getting a bit old for her line of work.

Andrew looked around, but if there was anyone in the buildings around them, they were disinclined to get involved.

The man had Maggie by the wrist and she was clearly trying to pull himself from her grasp before he slapped her again, hard enough for Andrew to hear it.

“Are you going to help her?” Dr. Jhandir asked.

That was all the prompting Andrew needed. He burst down the alleyway, his arm drawn back to deck the toff before he even reached him. It was a satisfyingly solid blow, and the other man stumbled backward, releasing Maggie, who took off as soon as she was free. Dr. Jhandir slipped quietly down the alley to watch.

Andrew grabbed the toff and punched him hard once, twice, before the man could get out of his way. “Stop!” he cried. “Stop, you-you—don’t you know who my father is?”

“Don’t much care,” Andrew growled. “He could be the Lord Mayor himself and it wouldn’t excuse you treating Maggie like that.”

The man backed away, raising his cane as though it were a shield. “You’re going to regret this,” he said. “My father is Lord Mountford and he—“

Andrew was in front of him in a few quick strides, and snatched the cane from his grasp, tossing it away from them, before grabbing him by the throat and shoving him against the wall.

“You could kill him,” Dr. Jhandir suggested, from somewhere behind him. Andrew had forgotten he was there for a moment, but now things seemed suddenly clearer.

“I can’t,” Andrew insisted. “I won’t. Don’t you ever have another kind of solution?”

“He could make trouble for us,” Dr. Jhandir said, mildly. “If his father is as important as he thinks he is.”

“Why don’t you kill him then?” Andrew said, frustrated—furious—and confused, ignoring the man’s frantic headshake. He was angry, his hand tight around the man’s throat. He wanted to squeeze the life out of him and he couldn’t tell where that desire came from. “You’re the one that enjoys it.”

“Will that really be so different?” Dr. Jhandir asked, watching Andrew’s expression with intrigued anticipation. “You wouldn’t stop me; this man would still be dead. Does it matter who does it? And I do remember you specifically telling me not to kill anyone for you, again.”

“Why do you have to do this?” Andrew gritted out, glaring at the toff as he clawed at Andrew’s arm ineffectively.

“Me?” Dr. Jhandir asked, delighted. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You—cause this. These things. Somehow you’ve made this happen,” Andrew said.

“I’m touched you think me so talented,” Dr. Jhandir said. “But it’s really not me. It’s this city. It’s sick, isn’t it? You can see it, right here. It’s everywhere. You can feel it.”

“Please,” the young Mountford rasped, sputtering as he tried to speak. “I’ll give you money if you just let me go.”

“You see?” Dr. Jhandir said, gesturing at the man as a professor would a board in a classroom. “This is exactly the problem. This entitlement. But we can fix it.”

“We’re just making a new kind of problem. This isn’t going to make things any better,” Andrew said. But still, he didn’t let go. The young man in his grasp was turning rather red.

“It will be better for that…young woman,” Dr. Jhandir said, circling around Andrew. “And any other women this man is no longer around to cross paths with, if you must justify it. Does the world really need another lord’s son?”

Andrew scowled, though Dr. Jhandir was fascinated to realize he could not tell if it was at him or the man in his grasp.

Anger. That was the key, Dr. Jhandir was certain of it, and it was a revelation, though one he should have realized right away. It seemed as though everyone around him was always angry, though for good enough reason. And Andrew looked furious now.

“Some people deserve to die, Andrew,” Dr. Jhandir said, almost gently.

“Please,” Lord Mountford’s son sputtered, before Andrew suddenly squeezed harder, cutting off his air completely. The young man flailed more desperately at Andrew’s arm for a moment, turning a startling dark shade of purple before he went limp. Andrew held him to the wall for a long moment, waiting for his own heart to slow, before letting go and stepping back, the young man’s body dropping to the ground.

“Andrew…” Dr. Jhandir said, quietly impressed, almost reverent. But Andrew was already walking out of the alleyway and did not look like he was going to stop. “Wait—Andrew, wait!” Dr. Jhandir called, looking between the body and his rapidly departing friend. “You can’t—wait!” With a noise of frustration, Dr. Jhandir jogged to catch up to his friend, leaving the body behind.


	7. Do Not Forget What We Cannot Forgive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew copes.

Andrew couldn’t understand why he was showing him this. Dr. Jhandir had a man laid out on the table in the surgery, and for some reason he was awake. He looked like he was trying to scream, wanted to scream, but there wasn’t any noise, his eyes wide but his mouth firmly closed.

Andrew squinted, and he thought the man looked familiar. It was Philip Jacobs—no, it was Dr. Suttler. He blinked and it was no one he knew, just a man, frightened and frozen and naked under the sheet.

“This is your first lesson,” Dr. Jhandir said, pointing with a scalpel to the man on the table.

 _I am not a surgeon_ , Andrew thought, but did not say.

“It is of vital importance not to hit any major arteries,” Dr. Jhandir continued, smiling at his own little joke. “At least, not yet. Are you paying attention, Andrew?”

He was. He did not want to be. He wanted to learn everything. He wanted to understand.

“We can salt the wounds after,” Dr. Jhandir said, assuring or reassuring him. “Salt the very earth. Prevent any more from growing.”

There were plants in the room now. Andrew was sure they hadn’t been there before. Dark vines creeping along the walls, covered with flowers he didn’t recognize—bright, obscene reds and swollen, bruised purples. Thin stalks burst from the floor topped with blooms of jaundiced, pussy yellow. They were hideous. They smelled divine.

“I grew them,” Dr. Jhandir said proudly, gesturing again. “But they need somewhere else to live.”

 _I thought you said they had to be stopped_ , Andrew said, or thought he said, or thought.

Dr. Jhandir ignored him. “Now, it’s very simple,” he said, turning his attention back to the man on the table. He rested the scalpel on the man’s chest, above his heart, lightly and confidently, like an artist beginning a painting with a single bold stroke. “They grow best here.” He traced a line, ruler-straight, down the skin and muscle of the man.

He screamed very loudly for making no noise and Andrew covered his ears. It made little difference.

Dr. Jhandir tutted, setting the scalpel down and stepping over to gently tug Andrew’s hands down. “Now, don’t do that,” he said quietly, smiling indulgently, as though at a child’s silly mistake. “You’re missing the best part.”

The screaming stopped as suddenly as it had started, and the man on the table had not moved at all. His eyes were as wide awake and alive as before.

“It’s very important that you plant them at the appropriate depth,” Dr. Jhandir said, stepping away from Andrew and holding up a seed that was suddenly in his hand. “I’m sure you knew that. Sometimes we are very much alike.” He pressed the seed into the wound he’d made, his finger sinking deep into the muscle, deeper than Andrew thought it could go and the man screamed again, his mouth closed. It sounded more like music, like a bell, but it was still a scream.

Dr. Jhandir turned to him again, beaming. “Watch,” he urged. “You’ll understand.”

Tendrils of light, sunny green began to sprout from the wound, curling slowly over each other, unfurling tender leaves. Within moments it budded and bloomed, pure, snow-white flowers that smelled like decay, the skin underneath them purpling and dying.

“Don’t you see?” Dr. Jhandir asked, and Andrew shook his head. “They have to live somewhere. They can grow anywhere.”

 _What are they?_ Andrew asked.

“Strange and interesting,” Dr. Jhandir said, laughing quietly. “Strange plants are my hobby. They’ll grow anywhere, but it’s important to keep them contained. You do see. You understand. You’re a smart man, Andrew—you will.”

Andrew looked at the plant blooming from the man’s chest again and it was already dying, the leaves graying and withering, falling off and curling up. Dr. Jhandir sprinkled something white over the flower and wound and it finished dying, shriveling up into nothing. The man on the table screamed out a single clear, bright note and Andrew thought it was too loud, though he didn’t mind it so much anymore. The doctor was suddenly at his side, by his side, on his side, taking his hand.

“Take this,” Dr. Jhandir said, pressing the handle of the scalpel into Andrew’s hand and closing his fingers carefully around it. The doctor kept his right hand wrapped lightly around Andrew’s, resting the other on his back. “Now, like I showed you. Make the furrows straight.”

Andrew reach the scalpel out toward the body in front of him, or was directed to, or was forced to. He lined the blade up to begin a parallel line down the man’s chest, pressing just enough to break the skin, and began to cut. The man sang and it was such a familiar song, he knew this song, he knew these words, he—

Andrew woke with a start, soaked in sweat, his heart pounding. He swung his legs out of bed and went to the washroom, splashing cold water on his face several times, closing his eyes for a moment. The images of the dream came back to him and he opened them again, staring at the sink until his heart slowed, letting the water drip slowly off his face.

He let out a slow breath and looked up to see himself in the mirror. He looked the same as ever, though now with little red creases on his face from the fabric of the pillow that had bunched as he slept. He thought he should look different. He thought he should have done something about the body in the alley.

He could never tell Liam.


End file.
